


Ceasefire

by interlude



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-09
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-03-06 19:42:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3146285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/interlude/pseuds/interlude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the midst of World War II, Prussia goes to visit an old friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ceasefire

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on ff.net under the title "All We Can Do Is Keep Breathing"
> 
> I'm in the process of moving old works from ff onto this site
> 
> Historical research actually went into this fic

It is late at night on the 25th of June, 1940 when Prussia slips into France’s room.

France does not want to see him; he tells him so, in harsh and ugly French, accent tainted by the foreign soldiers on his land.

Prussia, for once, has nothing to say, and sits himself in a chair in the corner of the room and watches with dull interest as France fiddles with the radio before finding an acceptable station. J'Ai Dansé avec l'Amour fills the room and Prussia scoffs, rolling his eyes.

“I don’t understand how you listen to this crap,” he says, and it’s something he’s said before, said often, but this time France does not argue back, does not insist that Édith Piaf is a gifted singer with the voice of an angel. He does not say anything. (He also does not say that Prussia’s own brother listens to her, because he would rather not think about that.)

So Prussia tries again. “Ludwig went to visit Spain,” he says and ignores the way France flinches at the name, pretends he doesn’t know why, while France wonders when they stopped referring to each other with names. “He’s doing alright; trying to stay as uninvolved as possible. Which is probably a good idea…”

His voice, usually loud and forceful and rather obnoxious, is quiet and breathless and tapers off awkwardly at the end of his sentences. He waits for a reaction from the blond in front of him but France does nothing but hum along with Édith and stare at the floor.

And so they sit, France listening to J'Ai Dansé avec l'Amour at full volume so that he can block out the arguing voices in his head - and one, saying ‘fight back, you goddamned fool’ sounds suspiciously like England - and Prussia, still in uniform, with his back straight and hands fisted in his lap, looking every bit the soldier he is, stays silent.

And then, with a deep breath - nerves frayed and heart beating fast, despite the fact he’s in a bedroom with an old friend and not on the battlefield anymore - Prussia pulls a stack of cards from the coat of his uniform and places them on the coffee table between them. They are dirt-covered and red-stained (blood, perhaps?) and with corners bent - the cards, France muses, look like they have been through as much as the two men in the room.

“Belote?” Prussia asks, grin on his face that is not quite right, not quite arrogant or mischievous enough and just a tad bit too shy and worried to be Prussia. (And, France notes, he has suggested Belote and not Skat, which France knows he would rather play. It is France that likes Belote.)

It is not quite an apology, but France does not believe he will get one. And it not quite a request for forgiveness, but France knows his friend well enough.

He takes the deck from Prussia’s hands and begins to shuffle, saying, with just the hint of a smile, “I believe I’m up for a game.”


End file.
